Behind every towering six at Wankhede and every national anthem moment in blue lies a story quietly nurtured in the dust and gravel of Mumbai’s maidans. Shivaji Park, Azad Maidan, Oval Maidan, Cross Maidan, these are more than open grounds; they are cricket’s oldest factories of dreams.
They have witnessed the rise of legends, from Sunil Gavaskar and Dilip Vengsarkar to Sachin Tendulkar, Rohit Sharma, and Yashasvi Jaiswal. Yet, while the stars walked into the limelight, the true architects of their journeys remained in the shadows.
One such guardian of Mumbai cricket is Nadim Memon, fondly called The Maidan Man, a curator whose life’s work has been rolled, watered, and flattened into the very pitches that shaped India’s greatest cricketers. On Saturday, former India captain and ex-BCCI chief selector Dilip Vengsarkar released a book celebrating Memon’s legacy, a rare tribute to a man who spent more time preparing wickets than receiving applause.
When asked about his own legacy, Memon shrugs off the praise like dust from his pitch rollers. “I do what I can for young cricketers. No regrets. My happiness lies in watching them succeed.” But Memon is not alone.
Hundreds of silent warriors, groundsmen who sleep in tents beside boundary ropes and battle scorching heat and torrential rain, ensure that young boys can chase their dreams. Men from Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, Rajasthan, and beyond have built Mumbai’s cricketing empire without ever holding a bat. Ramdas at Oval Maidan, Kamlesh at Cross Maidan, Mahesh at Azad Maidan, just a few of these tireless custodians.
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Ramdas, when asked if he feels forgotten, smiles. “No regrets. We’ve seen boys start their cricketing journey right here and go on to play for India. That is our reward.”
It was on this very ground that Yashasvi Jaiswal once lived in tents among these men, sharing food, laughter, and hope, long before he became an IPL star and India opener. Today, while stadiums chant his name, the men who sheltered him watch silently from the shade of a tree.
Through it all stands Nadim Memon, a godfather to these quiet soldiers. “During lockdown, when people were locked indoors, Nadim sir was out there delivering food grains to us,” recalls Kamlesh. “Even when movement was restricted, he found a way. We will never forget that.”
Cricket in India may be worshipped, but it’s time the priests of this religion are remembered too. The hands that rolled the pitches, marked the creases, and watered the clay have shaped more centuries than any coaching manual ever could.
It is high time we salute the real legends of Mumbai’s maidans, the heroes without jerseys.
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